Title: In The Springtime Of His Voodoo
Fandom: Dirty Sexy Money
Pairing: Jeremy/Juliet
Challenge/Prompt: 100_women 040. Reveal
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2010
Genre: Het
Warnings: Twincest!
Copyright: Title is a Tori Amos song.
Summary: The game is too real now or maybe it’s just not a game any more.
Author’s Notes: Ok, incest usually totally squicks me out which is why I’ve never written any before, but for some reason, when watching DSM (and no, I don’t know why I watch it either, it’s ridiculous) I find myself kind of shipping the twins. So here goes. I’m not expecting anyone to read this, but I just totally wanted to write it (and I wanted to submit it for 30randomkisses as well, but it turns out they don't allow incest). Episode tie-in for 1x05 The Game.



And right there for a minute I knew you so well.
Tori Amos

Heart in her mouth, Juliet watches Jeremy’s bare feet slip and slide on the edge, and listens to him laugh about it.

The game is too real now or maybe it’s just not a game any more, and she curses stupid brothers who want their birthday parties on the Brooklyn Bridge, and BFFs who aren’t BFFs at all, and annoying shoes that totally hurt. And lying bitches who tell your brother that they’re pregnant when they’re not, get him all excited about being a dad, and then totally slip up in the lie by bumming tampons at Sparkle, of all places.

Juliet is angry and she is scared and this is her birthday, dammit, and this is not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to have the best party and totally win and lord it over Jeremy tomorrow morning and then maybe she’d give him the gift she’s gotten him and they’d make up, because their fighting is getting kind of silly now. But what is actually happening is that Jeremy is drunk and practically naked and is making a fool of himself in a way that could get him killed.

Every time he lurches the women shriek and the men yell and yet no one can get close enough to pull Jeremy off the edge that he’s swaying around on. Underneath, the cars are swishing by too fast, and Juliet tries desperately to work out if there’s the slightest chance he could survive if he fell. Maybe not, and her Marie Antoinette wig is slipping; it’s too heavy on her head.

“Jeremy!” she screams, willing him to calm down and come back to safety before this self-destructive trip ends really badly. He acts like he can’t even see her – maybe he can’t, maybe his blurring eyes can’t see anything beyond Natalie’s betrayal.

If Juliet gets her hands on Natalie, she is going to fucking kill her. She is going to pull her apart. Only she is allowed to hurt her brother this badly, and that’s only ‘cause she’s earned the right.

“Don’t wanna be all by myself any more…” Jeremy continues on a tired sort of wail, fingers trembling where they’re clenched around the only strut keeping him upright, and all it would take would be a slide in the wrong direction for Jeremy to die right in front of her. On their birthday.

No. Juliet is not letting that happen. She always gets what she wants and in this case she’s not getting at all what she wanted but Jeremy is not going to let that bitch drive him to his death. Not if Juliet has any say in it at all. She pulls the stupid pink wig off, flinging it at the guy standing behind her, and takes a step or two closer to where Jeremy wavers.

She’s crying in a detached sort of way, tears spilling awkwardly down her cheeks, blurring her vision and Jeremy won’t even look at her.

“Jeremy!” she shouts over the noise of the people discussing what the odds are of seeing a Darling tumble to his death right in front of them. Sadistic bastards, and it gets pretty tiring, people only being interested in you ‘cause you’ve got more money than is probably, you know, healthy. But money won’t make her brother not be dead, and Juliet needs him to survive because, much as it pains her to admit it, she can’t live without him.

On a particularly trailing note – who knew her brother had it in him to be quite this morose; or does she mean moronic – Jeremy’s trembling hands drop the microphone. There are more screams and a wail of feedback reverberates through the speakers. Juliet kicks off her stupid painful shoes, scoops up a handful of impractical dress, and clambers up onto the stage just in front of where Jeremy is swaying uncertainly.

She wants to just break down as his eyes finally focus on her, but she bites down the floods of tears threatening to take her over, ‘cause now is so not the time, and holds out a hand that shakes only slightly.

“Take my hand,” she orders.

Jeremy’s left foot slides a little more on the rail, and he smiles blankly down at her. Juliet hates it when he gets all self-destructive and self-pitying and she is going to tell him this the minute she’s got him somewhere safe.

“Take my fucking hand, Jeremy!” she pretty much shrieks, edging a step nearer. She’s never had to talk anyone off a ledge before and she’s not sure soft sympathy is really one of her strong points, but it doesn’t matter any more. All that matters is making sure Jeremy is ok. Then they can have words about Not Having Parties On Bridges If There’s The Chance You’re Going To Get Drunk Enough To Fall Off, and also about Dealing With Your Girlfriend Not Being Pregnant After All In A Slightly Less Suicidal Way.

Jeremy uncurls his fingers from the girder holding him upright and for one split-second of heart-wrenching agony, Juliet honest to fucking God thinks that he’s going to fall. Then he reaches for her and sort of collapses off the rail but mercifully in the right direction, hand gripping hers tightly and knees getting grazed as he lands. Immediately, Juliet drags him upright, taking his weight against her because right now she doesn’t trust anyone else not to hurt her brother. Sure, she might hurt him, but he’s hers to hurt and anyway she’s the only one who knows how to hurt him right.

“You’re here?” he sounds confused, disorientated, and Juliet feels another sob rise up in her. “Don’t you have a party of your own to go to?”

“It wasn’t great,” Juliet admits reluctantly, looping his bare arm around her shoulders and making Jeremy take an incredibly uncoordinated step.

“This,” Jeremy says, waving his hand around at the people milling on the bridge and nearly succeeding in toppling them both over, “This blows. And sucks.”

Juliet grits her teeth. She’s pretty bad at being responsible and she’s faced with a drunk and semi-suicidal brother who is currently just about wearing his boxers and exactly nothing else. Not even his shoes.

A purse didn’t exactly go with her outfit, but she’s got several bills down her bodice anyway ‘cause she didn’t know what she was going to find when she got here. Struggling to support Jeremy, she digs a hand down her dress and pulls out the crumpled money.

“I need clothes,” she shouts. “Guys, I’ll buy your clothes from you.”

When this gets into the gossip columns tomorrow it’s going to look really bad, but Juliet cannot take her mostly-naked brother home. He must be dressed, even if the clothes are not exactly great. Still, once she’s bullied a few guys out of some jeans, a shirt and some shoes, she drags Jeremy over to a quiet space and helps him into them. He doesn’t say a word, not a single word, and nearly falls over as he puts on the jeans.

“You’re not that drunk,” Juliet mutters.

“I don’t know what I am,” Jeremy replies. “I know what Natalie’s not.”

“I did tell you,” Juliet points out. Her dress is impossible to move around in and she thinks it’s just as well Marie Antoinette didn’t have to deal with stupid, masochistic twin brothers because she would have failed miserably.

Jeremy remains silent as she does the buttons on the shirt for him, before taking his hand and tugging their way through the crowds of people who have started drinking and dancing again now the possible thrill of seeing a guy kill himself has passed.

“The shoes are too big,” Jeremy complains after a moment.

Juliet really doesn’t care, and says as much.

Jeremy is quiet for a while longer after she gets them off the bridge and onto a relatively quiet patch of sidewalk. In a few minutes, they can get a car home and it will all be fine and maybe once they’ve both had some sleep things will look slightly less crappy.

“Dad’s,” Jeremy starts laughing, “Dad’s going to kill us.”

Juliet has already thought as much and decides that it would be pretty hard for things to get worse at this moment in time.

“I thought…” she begins weakly, and there’s mascara smeared down her face and she’s just realised that she left her shoes behind and her stupid wig is missing and she hates her costume possibly more than she hates everything else in her life too. “I thought you were going to…”

“Hey,” Jeremy says softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and their 25th birthday has become an ugly mess that people will gawp over in their magazines over the next week or so. “Hey, look at me.”

He really isn’t that drunk and now the worst of the shock is wearing off her brother is coming back together in front of her eyes. Juliet has cried enough tonight and she still can’t comprehend what she so nearly lost. It’s getting kind of confusing as to who is holding who up here, arms wrapped around each other and from a distance they probably don’t look like siblings at all.

“You could have fallen,” Juliet snaps, words sounding bruised and broken in her mouth, “You could have died, on our fucking birthday.”

One of them should have gained maturity by now. It doesn’t matter who, but the fact is that they totally haven’t and this is the result.

“It’s ok,” Jeremy murmurs, and Juliet wants to tell him that it is in no way ok because he is a dick and daddy is going to hurt them for being quite so irresponsible and Juliet has no shoes and Jeremy’s are too big for him ‘cause they’re not even his. He feels cold and vulnerable against her hands, and she’s not ready to move away yet because she was so scared.

“It is not ok,” Juliet snaps, fingers digging into his shoulders.

They’re drowning in moonlight and her chest is heaving ‘cause the adrenalin’s still partying inside her, and it’s going to look ugly when written down in the papers tomorrow. Juliet suspects that this is the end of the trust fund and it’s not a comforting feeling. It could be worse; at least they’re both still alive to face the fallout.

“I fucking hate you,” she adds, pressing her face into the borrowed shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy mumbles. “I wasn’t thinking-”

“You never do.” Juliet clenches a fist in the shirt and will not look at her brother. She can’t.

“Look at me,” Jeremy insists, one hand tipping her chin up and she gazes at the man masquerading as her twin in stripes of silver light. “I’m sorry, and it’s going to be all right.”

He’s tipsy, she’s hysterical. And they look at each other for too, too long, and it’s hard to say when the hand she has on his shoulder slides around to the back of his neck to touch the ends of his hair, and he strokes a thumb along her cheek. They move simultaneously, which is sort of a relief ‘cause it means that there’s no one to blame later, and their mouths touch in an experiment born entirely of fear and relief. It’s strange and too familiar and simultaneously utterly alien, and Juliet is certain that she should stop for altogether too many reasons and they’ve kissed before but not ever like this. Jeremy’s tongue outlines her upper lip and Juliet’s fingers curl.

No one says we can’t, no one says but if someone finds out about this… and there are no threats and no tossing around of the blame.

“We should go home,” Juliet says, smiling slightly.

Jeremy nods. “Dad’s going to kill us in the morning,” he murmurs.

“It is the morning.”

“Oh yeah. Shit.”

They hold hands while waiting for the limo to come pick them up. They’ll never mention this again. They won’t need to.